


Breathing Words Against My Skin

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim gets busted. Blair gets payback.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing Words Against My Skin

## Breathing Words Against My Skin

by Pink Dragon

Not mine, please don't sue, all you'll get is four hungry mouths to feed, and I do mean HUNGRY.

Originally appeared in Come To Your Senses 21. 

* * *

It's after midnight and I'm sitting on the edge of Jim's bed, watching him pretend to sleep. I know he's awake and I'm pretty sure he knows I know. How I got here is not a long story. It has a lot to do with love and need. And something to do with payback. And in this case, payback is certainly not a bitch. Payback is gonna be slow, sweet,hot, wet, hard, and absolutely necessary. I'm gonna do to Jim what he's been doing to me. Except I'll do it while he's awake, even though he's pretending not to be. You see, Jim has been coming in my room, in the middle of the night, when he's sure I'm deeply asleep. And he's been breathing words against my skin. At my temple, or my cheek, or the curve of my jaw. Barely a sound, barely touching, just a brush of lips and soft exhalations of air. Breathing words of love. It started a couple of weeks ago. This is how it went. 

The First Time 

I come awake to the screech of the alarm clock, groan loudly and slap the snooze button. Burrow back under the sheet, and the memory rolls over me. The memory of a dream. I remember dreaming the lightest brush of soft lips against my temple. And words, "so beautiful...such a beautiful man...." Not even as loud as a whisper, just the feel of breath ghosting across my skin. I can still feel it, as if it really happened. But it was just a dream, I tell myself. Just a dream. Who would think I'm beautiful? 

I can smell coffee, so I know Jim is up. I throw the sheet off, sit up in bed, turn and put my feet on the floor and scrub my hands over my face and give my head a good scratch. Turn off the snooze alarm. "So beautiful...such a beautiful man...." I snort a little, say, "Yeah, right," and get up and head to the bathroom. 

"You up, Chief?" 

I groan back, "Yeah, I'm up." 

"Coffee's ready." 

I shut the bathroom door, pull my dick out and take that first, satisfying morning piss, and say, "Do you have to be so fucking chipper in the morning?" 

He answers back, and I swear I can hear him grinning, "Hey, it's a beautiful summer day. We're having a heat wave, and my work's caught up. What's not to be chipper about?" 

"Fuck," I whisper. I'm not fucking beautiful. And the day pretty much went like that. Jim being chipper and me being just slightly depressed. Who would think that me not being beautiful would be such a downer? I never knew I wanted someone to think I was beautiful. And a few days later I had another dream. 

The Second Time 

"Need you, Blair...." 

As soon as I wake up, I remember the dream. "Need you, Blair...." Soft mouth against my cheekbone. Air brushing across my eyelashes. "Need you, Blair...." My eyes fly open and my heart does that little trippy thing it does when I'm stressed. "Need you, Blair...." Late Saturday morning sun is streaming through the window, turning the light in my room to yellow and gold. "Need you, Blair...." Tiny dust motes float in the golden air and I clench my eyes shut again and moan softly, "No, no, no, no, no...." I don't want to be needed. I never wanted to be needed. Being needed means a relationship. Being needed means responsibility. Being needed means Blair 'grab-your-backpack-and-hit-the-road' Sandburg can't. Can't grab and go. I don't want to be needed. I never wanted to be needed. I keep telling myself it's just a dream, just a dream. Fuck. 

"You okay, Chief?" 

"Yeah, just fucking fantastic." 

"Hey, sorry I asked!" 

"Sorry, man. I just... I had this really weird dream." If I'd seen the stricken look on his face, he'd have been busted a lot sooner. 

The Third Time 

"Love you...love you, Blair...." 

"Hey, Blair! Time to rise and shine, Chief." 

I throw the sheet off my head, look over at Jim standing in my door, stick my tongue out at him and give him the oral imitation of farting. He laughs, turns and heads to the kitchen, says, "You want coffee with those raspberries?" 

"Love you...love you, Blair...." Soft mouth against my neck, just below my ear. "Love you...love you, Blair...." The memory washes over me like a tropical ocean wave, warm and gentle. Shit, another one of those weird dreams. At least this time it doesn't freak me out. I could stand to be loved. I would like to be loved. I could really go for being loved. I grin and throw myself out of bed, hit the bathroom for a quick pee, and head into the kitchen for coffee. It doesn't dawn on me that being loved and being needed pretty much go hand in hand. 

"Morning, Jim." I give him a big smile as he hands me a mug of fresh coffee. 

"Sleep good, Chief?" 

"Like a rock, man." 

He pats the top of my head like I'm a fucking cocker spaniel or something, grins back at me, and walks into the hallway. "Dibs on first shower," he calls over his shoulder. 

"Go for it, Jim," I tell him. I take my coffee and go sit out on the patio. It's a beautiful summer day. The heat wave is still on, and it's already warm and sunny and it's only 7:00. "Love you...love you, Blair...." 

"Yeah," I say softly, smiling to myself, "I could go for being loved." It never occurs to me that Jim is listening. I don't know that he freezes, with one foot in the shower and one on the bath mat. I don't see the look of longing on his face, or the way he closes his eyes, for just a couple of seconds. I don't see his hand fist in the shower curtain. I don't know that his heart clenches in his chest. 

I don't know that he loves me. 

The Fourth Time 

I come slowly awake from yet another of those weird dreams. It's the middle of the night, and it woke me up this time. "Don't ever leave me...please don't ever leave me...." I can still feel the ghost of warm lips at the base of my throat, the feel of soft hair brushing against my collarbone. "Don't ever leave me...please don't ever leave me...." 

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. Then I hear it. The third step from the bottom creaks, and a few seconds later, so does the one next to the top. Jim. It was Jim. It was fucking JIM! The dreams aren't dreams, they're Jim! I know it now, as surely as I know my own mother. My heart is pounding, my eyes are wide, staring at the ceiling, and I'm breathing hard. I clench my hands into fists and tell myself to calm down and think. Tell myself, Jim will hear you. He'll know you're awake. Jim always hears you. He heard the nightmares after Lash, after the elevator, after I died. He heard, and he came. He sat on the edge of my bed and rubbed my arm until I came awake with a gasp of fear. Until my heart rate and breathing slowed back to normal. He made me get up and he made me hot chocolate. He made me drink all of it, he made me talk about normal things, and he calmed me down. He put me back to bed, and he rubbed my back and stroked my hair until I went back to sleep. Jim loves me. Of course Jim loves me! How could I not have known? 

But he doesn't come back. I'm awake, wide-awake, almost panicked and he doesn't come. He doesn't come 'cause he knows why I'm panicked. He knows I know. And he doesn't come. And that, more than anything, tells me that I'm right. That Jim thinks I'm beautiful. That Jim needs me. That Jim loves me. That Jim wants me to stay. He can say the words, just not when he knows I'll hear him. I finally drag out all the meditation tricks I know. I slow my heartbeat. I slow my breathing. I calm the fuck down. I let Jim think I'm calm. That I'm going back to sleep. I let him relax, let him think maybe he didn't get caught. And I think. I finally go back to sleep. But now I've got a plan. 'THE Plan.' 

I wait until the weekend, until Saturday. And of course, Jim doesn't have a date on Saturday, because Jim loves me. And of course, I love him, too, or I wouldn't have bothered with The Plan. I'd have just followed him up those creaking stairs and cleaned his clock. So Saturday it is. Saturday is the day I execute my payback. We spend an hour cleaning the loft. Jim does the floors. I do the dusting. Jim does the bathroom and I do the windows. And when I'm washing the windows, I can see his reflection. He's supposed to be scrubbing the tub, but he's not. He's watching me. He doesn't know I can see his reflection, and he's standing at the end of the hall, with this look on his face that can only be described as tender adoration. He stands there for almost a minute, smiling, just watching me. I keep scrubbing at the window, and watching his reflection out of the corner of my eye, willing my heartbeat to stay slow. So he won't know I can see him. So he won't know how badly I want him, too. So I don't just go jump him now. Because I've got The Plan. Finally, he clenches his fists, closes his eyes for a second, and turns and walks back to the bathroom. I have to lay my forehead against the cool glass of the window for a moment. Really, it's just for a moment. 

Later, we go grocery shopping. We get big steaks and baking potatoes and we cook outside on the grill. I make a huge salad, Jim loads his potato with butter and sour cream and I just shake my head and let him. We end up watching a rented movie together. One we both agree on. Then we watch the eleven o'clock news, and we both head to bed at the same time. 

And after he's had time to relax, to get drowsy, I go. I tie my hair back, 'cause I have a feeling Jim won't be able to resist pulling it loose, and I think I might really, really like that. I put on nothing but my birthday suit, and I go up. And 'cause I know he would never sleep through the creaking stairs, I whisper to him on my way up, "Beautiful man ...need you...love you...love you, Jim...so beautiful...love you...." 

According to The Plan, that'll freak him out just enough that he'll pretend to be asleep. Otherwise, he'd just roll over and grouse, "Whadda ya want Sandburg?" And, like all good plans, it works like a charm. I put baby-wipes, condoms, and lube down on Jim's nightstand, and sit on the edge of his bed. My hands are only shaking a little. I swear. 

Like I said before, I know he's awake. He's lying on his back in the middle of his big bed. Our big bed. I grin, and slowly pull the sheet away from his chest, down past his waist. He just lies there, in soft gray cotton-knit boxers, looking like a fucking Greek god, pretending to be asleep. Jesus, the man makes Michelangelo's "David" look like a troll. But he's breathing too fast to be asleep. And I think he's trembling. I climb onto the bed and straddle him, on hands and knees, one hand on either side of his shoulders. And I lower my face to his temple, brush a soft kiss there, and whisper, no sound, just air, "So beautiful...such a beautiful man. So, so beautiful...." 

He doesn't move a muscle, but I can feel his pulse against my mouth. It's pounding, fast and hard. I run one fingertip across his forehead, his cheek, his lips. I press my mouth against his neck, just under his ear, just like he did to me, and send a breath of words again, "Need you, Jim...need you so much...." 

I can hear his breath catch in his throat. And something almost like a sob. So I lower my head to his chest, string a row of soft, wet kisses across his collarbone, press my mouth at the base of his neck and tell him, no sound, just lips and air moving against his skin, "Love you, Jim, love you, love you, love you...." 

And his hands come up and hold my face, and he pulls the hair tie out, just like I knew he would, and buries his fingers in my hair, gently rubbing my head. 

And he says, "Blair...." So soft. Just air, moving between us. 

I press my mouth to the soft skin of his chest, over his heart. And finally tell him, "I'm never gonna leave you, Jim.... I'm never gonna leave...." 

He pulls my head up, and looks at me. His face is open, showing love, and desire, and tenderness, and the same adoration I saw reflected in the window. He smiles, and caresses my face, runs his hands over my cheekbones, and my forehead, my nose, my jaw, and finally, my mouth. 

So I lick his fingers. 

And he gasps, "Blair...oh, God, Blair, I love you...love you so much...." Then he pulls my face down, closes his eyes, and kisses me. 

A long, long time later, after he's kissed me slow and sweet, and kissed me hard and nasty, after he's sucked my nipples into hard, aching points, after I've put my fingers in him, and my cock in him, after I come inside him for the first time, with my face pressed hard against his back, whispering fiercely to him, "Don't come... don't come yet... please don't come yet..." After he's had his tongue in me, and his fingers in me, after he's whispered all those words of love again, out loud, his eyes holding mine, after I've lowered myself onto his cock, and held myself above him so he can thrust up inside me, his hands in a bruising grip on my hips, after I've found just the right position to make him hit my prostate with every thrust, after I've sucked and twisted and bit his nipples until he's growling with need, after I'm right on the edge, again, I lean down, lock my eyes with his, and I touch my mouth barely against his and breathe against his mouth, "Come for me...." And he does, we both do. As he comes inside me, he gasps my name against my mouth, and I gasp his. 

He pulls me down against him and wraps me up in his arms and holds me tight, 

and after a minute or two, he's whispering against my ear, "You little brat, you knew all along, didn't you? You little brat." 

I laugh at him, and he laughs, too, and rubs my back, long, smooth strokes from my thighs to my neck. Then he rolls us both over until he's on top of me, and he kisses my face over and over, sweet and soft. Then he tucks his face down into my shoulder and he says, "I'm sorry, Blair. I'm sorry." 

I squeeze him as tight as I can and rub his head and his back and his arms and tell him, "No, no, no, no.... Don't be sorry, man. Nothing to be sorry about, here. We're fine, we're good, we're great, man!" 

I try to pull his face up so I can see him, but he just burrows in closer. He whispers into the crook of my neck, "I should have said something. I knew I was freaking you out, but I couldn't stop. I felt like some kind of pervert, coming in your room, but God, I couldn't stay away. I just couldn't." 

I keep rubbing him, calming him, touching him, and tell him, "It's okay, Jim, it's okay. You said what you needed to say, and I got the message, didn't I? It's okay, I love you, it's okay." 

He kisses my neck and my shoulder, and finally leans up to smile at me. "You're not mad?" 

I grin and say, "Hey, do I look mad?" 

He grins back and says, "Hmmm, no, actually you look liked you've been well and thoroughly loved." 

I tell him, "Oh, but I'm not nearly done with you yet, Jim." 

"Oh, yeah?" 

I hold his face in my and hands and say, "I'm never gonna be done with you, man." 

He smiles kind of shyly at me, and I don't think I've ever seen this smile before, this shy, hopeful smile, and he whispers, "Promise, Blair?" 

And I know this promise is about more than me just not being done with him yet. So I kiss him softly, and say, "I will never leave you, Jim. I promise." 

His face lights up, he kisses me again, deep and slow, and when he pulls his mouth away from mine, he says, "So, which side of the bed do you want?" 

I grin up at him and say, "You mean I get to pick?" 

He answers softly, "Of course you get to pick. You can have anything you want, Blair. Anything you want that I can give you, you can have." He has the most beautiful smile on his face, and I know he just returned my promise. 

"Hmmm," I whisper back, grinning up at him. "I think I'm gonna like this. How 'bout we share the middle?" 

He gives me a big grin and says, "You've got it, babe. Go to sleep. I love you." 

"Love you, too, Jim." 

He rolls over onto his side and pulls me back against his chest, spooned together, his arms holding me close, and my arms holding his, both of us still wet and sticky, smelling of sex and sweat and satisfaction. We didn't use the condoms or the baby-wipes, but we used up all the lube. And as I lay there in Jim's arms, with the glow of stars coming through the skylight, I think, "Oh, yeah," still smiling, "I'm gonna love this." 

And payback was just like I promised myself it would be, slow, sweet, hot, wet, hard, and absolutely necessary. 

And someone does think I'm beautiful. I do want to be needed. Jim loves me, and I will never, ever leave. 

* * *

End Breathing Words Against My Skin by Pink Dragon: pinkdragon456@aol.com

Author and story notes above.

  
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